“Yes, I am waiting for----” the name was lost in the slamming down of chairs and the stamping of feet. “That’s all right,” exclaimed Mrs. Walbridge, much relieved. “I couldn’t have you stand. Be sure and bring your escort over to the Administration Building for tea after the drill,” and she moved ponderously down the aisle to her seat. “Sorry to have been so long,” apologized Duncan, rejoining Marjorie. “I succeeded in exchanging my tickets for two seats in this lower section. Come on,” but Marjorie held back, and her face grew troubled. “Hadn’t I better go upstairs and sit with your sister, and let Mr. Barnard join you in these lower seats?” she asked. “You take your chaperonage too seriously,” declared Duncan firmly. “I hardly ever see you alone, Miss Marjorie, and now Fate has given me a chance to enjoy myself, I decline to have your New England conscience spoil my fun. But if it will make you feel any easier, I’ll run up and tell Barnard where we are sitting. Here, Corporal, show this lady to her chair,” and he turned and dashed upstairs. Marjorie slowly followed the non-commissioned officer down the aisle to the front row, speaking to her different friends as she passed them. As she made herself comfortable in the narrow chair, she recognized Baron von Valkenberg and the military attaches of the foreign embassies at Washington, always interested spectators at the drills, sitting near her. To her left was the box reserved for the President and the Commandant of the Post, draped with the President’s personal flag and the Stars and Stripes, while the Chief of Staff and his aides occupied an adjoining box. Duncan saw Janet and Barnard sitting midway in the front row of the gallery, and with many apologies to the occupants of the chairs whose feet he encountered on his way to them, he reached Barnard’s side, and in a few words explained the situation, then, not waiting for comment, turned and ran downstairs, reaching Marjorie’s side just as the opening bars of the National Anthem echoed through the hall, and the entire audience rose as the President stepped into his box. “Oh, isn’t it grand!” shouted Janet to Barnard, clapping her hands as a troop of cavalry rode on to the tanbark, and with a ringing cheer, swept at a run down the hall straight to the President’s box, their chargers’ noses stopping just short of the high railing, and their sabers flashing in salute; then the drill was on. So absorbed was Janet in the different events scheduled that her companion received but scant attention. “I declare, our soldiers are magnificent!” Janet drew a long breath, and regretfully watched the company of picked roughriders leave the hall. “You little enthusiast!” Barnard’s handsome eyes glowed with some warmer sentiment than mere approval as he studied her piquant face. “Jove! It’s a liberal education to know you.”